Unclear
by OkamiNikx
Summary: Rated T to be safe. Sequel to Future Unwritten. I had some problems with my account so I'm SilverEyesofDawn. Anyway, Philocide is leaving her home city, Gilneas, and is unclear about her future. Will somebody be able to clear out that rain? Or will they just fog up the eyes that have already seen the vile and corrupted?


**There isn't much to say, except…the next chapter! (Although it took me a long $$ time…) I hope you guys had fun reading the first one, even though it was as short as my sister ^_^ (she's 16 years old and still 5 feet =/) Anyway, Philocide is now boarding the boat to Ruth'eran Village and has her game face on again =) I'll let you read now. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the awesomely awesome World of Warcraft.**

The last explosions created a thunder that echoed in Philocide's short ears. The light brown fur that covered her body seemed to rise up like arms reaching out to heaven. She patted Odysseus, who seemed to be scarred and terrified from the war as well, he was only about 3 years old.

Philocide heard a creaking behind her, slowly walking up to the pair, as if about to pounce and kill. Acting quickly, Philocide pulled out her sword, Rallying Charge, and held it to the stranger's throat. It was dark in the room of the ship, had it not been, Philocide would have discovered it wasn't a stranger at all, rather her sister, Rabiosa.

"Watch it, Phil!" Rabiosa lit the few lanterns, creating a dim light that illuminated itself across the walls. Philocide sheathed her sword once again and glared at her sister.

"I could have killed you!" she growled. "I…I could've killed you," Philocide broke down in tears and fell into her sister's arms. Rabiosa held her for a moment, and then sat her back down. "This war has changed me so much. I'll never be the same."

"Don't think of it that way," Rabiosa lifted her sister's chin with her sharp claws and spoke softly, but firmly. "Think of it as an adventure. We'll get back to Gilneas soon; just don't let the Forsaken destroy you. You're much better than that Phil. And look, the tears they make you shed so often will soon begin to ruin your gorgeous face. I wish I had one like yours."

Philocide had to laugh. "We're twins." She pushed her sister lightly. Rabiosa chuckled.

"Yes, but not completely identical. Where I got mother's light skin, you are tan, like father. Where I got father's thin lips, yours are red and full like mother's. But your eyes…I've never seen anything like them. I thought yours were going to be brown and big when you changed, like when you were a human. How did they become that color?"

Philocide looked at her skeptically. "I thought they were brown?" Philocide walked into the captain's quarters. A long mirror hung on one wall, where she peered into her unfamiliar reflection. They were silver.

Philocide gasped at first, startled by how the light reflected off of them. The whites of her eyes were still white, but her irises were now a pearl-silver. It was like looking into a pool, but what was hidden in it was a secret, almost dark. You would have to swim for a while, and be able to hold your breath long enough to explore it all.

"I-I don't know," Philocide answered. She walked toward the deck of the ship, eager to ask if there we any side effects of the potions she was given earlier, but the ship lurched and Philocide fell onto the bed. Sitting up, she looked out the porthole, and realized they were leaving.

Leaving behind her home.

...

**So it's been a while since Philocide and the others left Gilneas, and although it's still a memory, and she hasn't given up her quest to revive Gilneas, she has moved on to other things, such as fighting her way through Azeroth. She's in Goldshire right now. Enjoy **

Philocide glared at the man that stood before her. He was tall, and had long, red hair. His green eyes shone brightly, gleaming with a flare of arrogance and confidence that she had just enough tolerance for. She growled deep within her throat.

"I've never had much likings for blood elves. Why did you come?" It was unnatural for a member of the horde to come to Goldshire alone, with so many people, and especially at his stage of training. Most people called it "levels," while she called it stages. They were both at stage 34.

"I thought that this would be…interesting, to say the least," he answered, his voice a deep sonata. He laughed, which sounded exactly like his voice. This also made it all the more obnoxious.

Philocide struck him in the neck, cutting his arrogant chuckling short. "_What_ would be interesting?"

The blood elf chocked and sputtered for a while, trying to catch his breath. His eyes bore a new air of annoyance. Getting up, and pulling a paper out of his robes, he answered, "I spoke with your king today, that Wrynn fellow. This," he waved the paper in front of Philocide's muzzle, "Is a document. I requested permission to duel one of his strongest soldiers, around my level of course, and he appointed me to you. I don't exactly see why, you look more like a puppy than a beast." He laughed again, annoying Philocide even more.

"I'd watch your tone around here blood elf. Have you forgotten you're on Alliance territory? I will not hesitate to slit your throat if need be," she growled, only a few inches away from his face. Her hot, odorless breath rustled his hair.

"So you accept my duel?" the blood elf raised his chin.

"Do I look a fool?"

"Yes."

Philocide huffed. "Yes, I accept your duel, blood elf."

"I have a name."

"I do not wish to know it."

The blood elf laughed again, amused. He was about to take a ready battle stance, when a sly grin flashed across his face, and he made his voice ring loud and clear though Goldshire.

"Citizens of the Alliance! I am about to engage in a duel with your fellow comrade. If you'd like to witness the defeat of her, then gather around the edges of this path and watch as I bring her to her knees." He waited for people settle themselves. **(A/N Needless to say everybody did.) **"Oh, and sweetheart, this duel won't be like ones you have with your little friends. The king agreed this one would be to the death." He said nonchalantly.

Philocide hesitated, not sure if she would be strong enough to defeat him. She didn't know much about him, although she guessed he was a warrior. And, he was a blood elf. He probably had something up his sleeve.

After they formed a ring that started at the stable master, behind the gates, in front of the entrance of the blacksmith's shop, around the gates once more, and ending with the stable master again, the two were heading to either side of the ring.

Philocide made a few preparations, made sure she conjured Aspect of the Hawk on herself, restored her armor, and then finally made sure Odysseus was nearby so he could aid her when needed.

"How long are you going to take?"

Philocide just glared at the elf, secretly readying her bow. Deciding she'll start with binding shot, she cast a silent spell on the arrow. From somewhere in the crowd somebody yelled, "Duel starting in 3!"

The blood elf grinned wildly.

"2!"

Philocide snarled.

"1!"

Elf and worgen raised sword and bow at the same time.

"Duel!"

A flash of purple came from Philocide's bow. In a blinding red light, the blood elf was halfway across the path, but was soon stunned by the worgen's arrow. Taking advantage of his paralysis, Philocide began to shoot another arrow that would normally take longer than others. The stun wasn't long enough, unfortunately, and he attacked Philocide with his sword. Performing a series of intricate moves that Philocide was unfamiliar with; he cut, stabbed and jabbed at the hunter, until she was on the ground with his sword at her throat. The crowd, who was silent up until now, let out a gasp. Most of the people in the crowd were her friends.

"Any last words?" He whispered in her ear.

"No, not really. Just a…request, or a favor, would be nice," she answered quietly, so no one would hear. She unintentionally returned to her human form. He looked into her softer, more natural eyes, and for a moment, his grip softened. Then he remembered who, or_ what _as he saw it, he was fighting, and held onto his sword and her shoulder even more. She didn't flinch.

"Would that be your sad little whimpers?" He asked, a mocking accent leaking from his lips.

Without answering, Philocide wrapped her arm around the elf's neck, bringing her hand to his cheek and pursing her lips slightly. The elf was surprised, but cautiously agreed to the "request." He was a blood elf after all, and well, they had a bit of a "friendly" nature, no matter what race they were.

The crowd was just as shocked as the elf himself. A couple of curses and unfriendly words swept through the crowd, while others chuckled at her gesture. A certain worgen, though, seemed to be more evidently intolerant than the others.

The two soldiers' lips almost met, when a sly grin swept across Philocide's face, like a shadow dancing across a valley. The hand that rested on the elf's cheek met her lips, and a sharp, monotone melody rang across the valley.

The warrior was bewildered at first, and then, his eyes widening, a look of horror replaced his previously pleased and perverted expression. A loud snarling replied to the whistle, revealing the presence of Odysseus, Philocide's rather large mastiff.

The elf had just enough time to recognize what had happened, before a force struck his back, causing him to tumble head first onto the floor. Philocide had already grabbed her bow, aiming straight for the elf's wrist.

"Odysseus, kill!" Philocide commanded, while transforming. Roaring, Philocide rose to her full height, which was a few inches taller than the elf, and released the arrow. It landed straight on its target.

The blood elf let out a cry of pain, cradling his wrist while he writhed on the ground. He was defenseless. He no longer was able to wield a sword, and Odysseus would not stop attacking, whether it was clawing or biting. To his relief, Philocide ordered him to stop.

"Halt!" She demanded. Odysseus returned, disappointed he couldn't finish the man off.

"Any last words?" Philocide teased. The elf didn't even have a retort. She met his eyes for a minute, but they were unreadable. He was already dying.

Philocide aimed her bow at the torn elf's heart. He lay on the ground, quivering. After she could take no more of his suffering, she released the arrow.

The elf moved no more.


End file.
